Molly's Man (Haven, Texas 4)

After handing in her resignation, she’d sat down and created her bucket list. Ten things to do before she died. And when she’d done them all, she intended to find some island where the sun always shone and live out the rest of her life lying on the beach and going through the huge list of cocktails she’d amassed. And if there were a few sexy, half-dressed men running around the beach, so much the better.

“I think I’m becoming a pervert,” she muttered to herself. Then she grinned. Oh, well, it was her life. She’d live the rest of it how she liked.

No regrets.

She frowned as the rain grew harder, causing her to slow down at a sharp curve, the road slick from the heavy downpour. Damn it, figuring she didn’t have much choice unless she wanted to land in the ditch at the side of the road, she cautiously pulled over, leaving her headlights on and her car running to stave off the chill. She flicked the automatic locks to make herself feel secure. There was something very I Know What You Did Last Summer about being stuck out here in the middle of nowhere in a storm.

“Jesus, Molly, stop it. Not like a serial killer is going to sit around waiting for a thunderstorm so you’ll be forced to pull over, then he can take you away to his cabin in the woods, where he’ll slice a piece of you off each day. . . and I’m gonna stop now.”

She always did have an over-active imagination.

Something flickered over to her right. She frowned. Was that a light? Who the hell would be out here in this storm? She waited, cursing the rain and the growing darkness. It wasn’t even 6 p.m., yet it might as well have been close to midnight. Another flicker. Definitely a light.

She put her hand on the door handle then hesitated, visions of herself being murdered, her throat slashed, her eyeballs plucked by crows, her body bloated and smelly, and . . . There she went again. Maybe she should have followed her aunt’s advice and become a writer rather than going into psychiatry. It wasn’t like she didn’t have enough money to do whatever she liked. Her mom had come from a wealthy family and she’d left her a huge trust fund when she’d died.

Damn that flickering light was annoying.

“Aunty always did say my curiosity was going to get me into trouble.” She undid her seatbelt then reached back for the light rain jacket on the back seat. It was waterproof, not torrential rain proof but it was better than nothing. She pulled it on before getting out of the car and racing around to the trunk, thankful she was travelling light and didn’t have a lot of suitcases and boxes to move around before she could get to the emergency kit. She’d donated most of her stuff when she’d given up the lease on her apartment. All she’d taken were some clothes and a few key items that held memories, photo albums, jewelry, and the patchwork quilt her grandmother had made.

She dragged the heavy kit towards her. Water, bandages, chocolate, knife, ice scraper, candy, batteries . . . uh-huh, there it was. She grabbed the flashlight, flicking it on. She briefly contemplated digging into some of that emergency candy—she’d prefer her last supper to be a Big Hunk than that awful Mexican she’d had for lunch. That swill shouldn’t even be called Mexican.

But instead, she shut the trunk of her car and carefully crossed the road, heading towards the flickering light. She was soon saturated. Her sneakers squelched, and even though she’d drawn the hood on her jacket up over her head, the stinging rain still pelted her face.

Nearly there, she stopped, her heart pounding so hard it hurt. Was she seeing things? She wiped at her face. Nope. Shit!

She took off at a run, half-sliding down the ditch to reach the old pickup lying at the bottom of the gully. The flickering lights she’d seen were the headlights of the rusty, red truck, which had mostly been obscured by brush.

“Hello! Hello, is anyone there?”

Please let them be all right. Please let this be an old accident and everyone walked away from it safely and for some reason the car’s lights just decided to turn on.

She crouched down next to the driver’s door, ignoring the way her sneakers were drenched right through to her socks as she stood knee deep in the swiftly running water in the bottom of the ditch.

Crap.

An older looking man lay slouched in the driver’s seat. She reached for the door handle and pulled, grunting with the effort as she tried to get it open. It had one hell of a dent in the side. She finally stopped, panting heavily with exertion and fear. Looked like she wasn’t getting in that way. She tried to get around to the passenger door, but there wasn’t enough room between the truck and side of the gully to get the door open. Instead, she climbed into the bed of the single-cab pickup. The back window was open. Hallelujah. Although she wouldn’t be able to get him out that way, at least she could tell if he was still alive. She reached in and felt for a pulse.

She gave a sob of relief when she felt a faint beat under her fingers. He wasn’t out of trouble, though. His skin felt cold and clammy and his heart rate was slower than she would have liked. How long had he even been here? It could have been hours.

“Sir! Sir, can you hear me?”

No answer. Okay, what now? She couldn’t get him out and she wasn’t sure she should move him anyway.

“Call for help. Right, use your cellphone, ditz!” Duh. Somehow, she didn’t think her brain was firing on all cylinders right now.

“Don’t worry. I’m going to get help. Just stay there.” Letting out a hysterical sounding laugh, she stood and took a calming breath.

“Settle down, acting like a crazy person isn’t getting this poor guy out of here.” She pulled out her phone and stared down at the screen, trying her best to shield it from the rain.

“No, no, no,” she moaned to herself. No service. “Higher. Higher. Got to get higher. And stop talking to yourself. Pull it together, Molly.”

So much for keeping cool under pressure. She tried to slide the window across to close it, but it wouldn’t budge. Tucking her phone back into her raincoat pocket then zipping it up, she jumped down off the back of the truck and slipped in the mud, twisting her ankle. Holy shit that hurt. She whimpered, grabbing her foot as sharp, hot pain worked its way up her leg.

“Damn it. Damn it.”

What was she thinking jumping off? She wasn’t athletic. Richard used to moan all the time about how clumsy she was. She wished she could sit there and feel sorry for herself, but she had to get help. Using the side of the truck, she pulled herself up and cautiously placed weight on her foot. It

didn’t feel great, but she could stand it. She started back up the embankment. It seemed like it took three times as long to claw her way to the top. When she finally reached the road, she was exhausted, her hands shaking, her breath sawing in and out of her lungs, and her ankle throbbing. Yeah, maybe she should have thought about taking the stairs once in a while, perhaps laying off the pork rinds and Big Hunks too. She just figured there wasn’t much point in worrying about what she ate at this point. She pulled her phone out, careful not to drop it.